


Purple Hyacinths

by serendipitousDescent



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adopted Children, F/F, Organized Crime, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 20:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10344219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitousDescent/pseuds/serendipitousDescent
Summary: “Flowers?” Rachel asks faintly.Sara hums from the other side of the line, oblivious to the choked edge of the word. “Of course, I’m sure you remember. You sent me a beautiful arrangement of purple hyacinths. I mean, tulips are my favourite and I know you know that, but I’m willing to let it slide because you never usually do things like this.”“Look, Sara, is there a note-” A knock at the door interrupts her and she breathes in, deep and wobbly. “I need to go now, it seems. If you don’t hear back from me soon, just… know that I love you, okay?”The Boss always sends flowers to the families of those he puts a hit out on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a prompt on [writing-prompt-s](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/158190386416/you-work-for-a-powerful-mob-boss-and-you-know-for): You work for a powerful mob boss, and you know for a fact that whenever he whacks someone he sends anonymous flowers to the victim’s family. One day, you get a call from your wife thanking you for the beautiful flowers. Before you can tell her you didn’t send any, there’s a knock at the door.

“Flowers?” Rachel asks faintly. 

Sara hums from the other side of the line, oblivious to the choked edge of the word. “Of course, I’m sure you remember. You sent me a beautiful arrangement of purple hyacinths. I mean, tulips are my favourite and I know you know that, but I’m willing to let it slide because you never usually do things like this.” 

“Look, Sara, is there a note-” A knock at the door interrupts her and she breathes in, deep and wobbly. “I need to go now, it seems. If you don’t hear back from me soon, just… know that I love you, okay?” 

“I know. It goes both ways.” 

“Good.” 

Sara makes one last noise, stopping Rachel from hanging up just yet. “Is something wrong? Please don’t tell me that Nikita sent those flowers on your behalf.”

The line goes dead the moment Rachel hangs up and she closes her eyes, resting her phone against her forehead while she lets the words wash over her. Regardless of who is on the other side of that door, she knows that her wife loves her. It isn’t the only thing that matters but it is one bit of comfort in the face of her growing distress. 

Another knock, clear and concise, startles Nikita awake. He nearly falls out of his chair when his head shoots up and he slowly blinks the sleep from his eyes, blearily squinting at her and then at the unfinished card game on the table between them. A scowl is carved into his face as he counts his poker chips and comes up short. The difference is quickly made up with the pile she stole from him earlier and he leans back again to wait for her inevitable excuse. 

“The Boss put out a hit on me,” Rachel offers. 

“Seriously? That excuse was tacky enough the first time you tried it. Besides, I didn’t fall for it then, what makes you think I’ll fall for it now?” A third knock makes Nikita glance at the door, his scowl only growing. “That’s real funny, Ray. Fifty bucks says I can guess who you conned into coming out this way.”

“This isn’t a fucking joke.” 

“Of course it is. You’re just about the most loyal person I know.” 

“Sara just phoned.” 

That makes Nikita pause and finally reconsider. “He sent her flowers then?” 

“Purple hyacinths.” 

“And that’s Mirzakhani at the door.”

It isn’t a question but Rachel nods anyways. 

Nikita slumps back into his chair and runs a hand through his thinning hair. “How long do we have before he forces his way in?”

“About seven minutes.” She doesn’t bother looking around the room. There’s only one door and Mirzakhani is presumably on the other side of it, waiting for them. Not that Nikita has ever been stopped by semantics like that before. “So, whatever you’re planning, you better act fast.” 

“Why do you think I’m planning something? Thanks but I’m not suicidal.”

“You’re always planning something.” 

“Only because you always get into trouble,” Nikita fires back. He stands up anyways with an assessing gleam to his eyes as he looks around the room and then at the window. 

Rachel waits for a long moment, not entirely certain what he thinks he can see through the inch of dirt covering the glass. “Need me to do anything?” 

“Please just stand there and look pretty.” Nikita glances back at the door without pause and reaches for his jacket, draped over the back of his chair. “No, wait, go open the door. We still don’t know why the Boss wants you dead and you might be able to distract Mirzakhani while I break this window.” 

A fourth knock on the door makes them both tense. Nobody forces their way inside, much to their relief, and Rachel awkwardly stands up. According to the stories she’d heard, they have another six minutes before Mirzakhani comes in to do the Boss’s dirty work. Answering the door now though, that feels like she’s signing her own death certificate. Sara would not appreciate her walking towards her death. Neither would the children, for that matter. 

If it weren’t for the look Nikita gives her, she wouldn’t have stood up at all. It’s the one that tells her he’s two seconds from strangling her with his own two hands if she doesn’t shut up and listen to him. Usually, it’s paired with a rough slap to her head and a snide comment about it being for her own good.

Rachel takes in a deep breath and slowly opens the door. Just as she thought, Mirzakhani stands out in the hall with his hair slicked back and his sharp, unreadable gaze staring right through her. The temptation to shove him over the railing behind him must be written across her face but to his credit, he doesn’t immediately go for the gun under his suit jacket. 

The sound of shattering glass turns his attention behind her, and Rachel shifts to the side and tries to smile. 

“Huntz,” Mirzakhani starts sharply, “even if you survive that jump, you won’t survive me.” 

An awkward silence stretches through the old warehouse, quickly halting Nikita’s plan. 

“You’re even more on the ball than the last time we saw each other, Mirzakhani,” Rachel says, letting her shoulders roll back in a show of useless posturing. It doesn’t need stating that they ran into each other at some coffee shop just hours ago. “Does the Boss need something or are you just stopping by for our pleasant company?” 

Mirzakhani barks out a laugh. “Pleasant is not the word I would use, Wiesel. Perhaps if you didn’t spend your time in places like this, people would be more willing to seek you out.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, really. Care to tell why you are here then?” 

“You know.” His brief amusement is gone as his voice grows low and serious. “Huntz wouldn’t have bothered breaking the window if you hadn’t. I didn’t take you for a fool.” 

“A fool is really taking it too far, don’t you agree? I just like to think of myself as cautious, really. I mean, I could go ahead and assume that you’re here to shoot me and good old Nikita dead, but thinking I’m a dead woman before you actually shoot me won’t help that,” she says with a shrug. 

Nikita groans audibly from behind her. “Really, Ray?” 

“Shut it, Nikita.” 

Mirzakhani inclines his chin, lacking any noticeable sympathy. “An accurate assessment. Far more than you would guess have died simply because they decided to run instead of allowing the Boss to talk with them. And here, the Boss thought it likely you would be one of them.” 

“You’re screwing with us,” she says lowly, her shoulders slumping. “You and the Boss just wanted to screw with me.” 

“No.” 

“Then what?” 

“We know about the children, Wiesel.” 

* * *

The further from the docks they get, the worse Rachel feels. It’s a strange mix of nerves and nausea that makes her clench and unclench her fingers. Nikita isn’t making things any easier either, not with the wide-eyed looks of desperation he keeps giving her. He might be a planner but he certainly isn’t good at keeping secrets. 

Each turn they make results in a twist of her stomach, their route clear in front of them. Mirzakhani refused to say anything more about the children or the Boss, just demanded that they get into the car. The soft, classical music had been quickly turned off and they drove in silence, neither her nor Nikita quite willing to break it. This limbo of not knowing is bad but she has almost convinced herself that knowing will be worse. 

Her heart nearly stops when they turn down one last road. The house three doors to her right immediately draws her gaze despite herself. It isn’t some rundown piece of shit with boarded up windows and broken front steps like most of the places their organization uses. All of the other houses on the block look nearly identical with well-groomed lawns and wide garages but this one is hers. At any moment, someone will run through the front door, laughing before they shout at someone else still inside. None of that happens and it makes her throat close up with her disappointment. 

Nitika catches her gaze with raised, overgrown eyebrows and Rachel looks down at her feet. There’s nothing like overwhelming terror to start off the day, especially not right before they walk into their house-turned-lion’s den. 

Thinking about that now will only result in her throwing herself out the car window and she should be worrying about how the Boss figured it out in the first place. Her and Nikita spent months ensuring that no one could follow their tracks. There were far more bribes involved in that process than she will ever admit. Money can make a lot of things happen, even if a well-place threat can undo it all. 

The curtains shift as Mirzakhani pulls into the driveway and turns off the car. All Rachel can think about is Meg or Len ducking behind the couch to hide from the Boss. It has her reaching for the door handle the moment she gets the seatbelt off, only remembering afterwards that she opened them before she left this morning. 

She doesn’t blink when the door slams behind her. Her feet automatically avoid the toys lying haphazardly across the front lawn, her focus on the front door. 

“Wiesel, a minute won’t change anything,” Mirzakhani calls after her.

Rachel ignores him. The hinges on the door squeak as it opens but what she sees in the living room makes her stop in her tracks. 

Terrified children aren’t it. 

On good days, the Boss is tall and lanky with sharp angles that make some people think he’s a teenage boy until they see the lines around his eyes and mouth. There aren’t many good days but that is the person she sees in front of her now. 

Rachel never thought the Boss would actually do anything to the children. He is a traditionalist at heart and one who considers children off limits. That isn’t the same as seeing slumped back on her living room couch with Meg curled up with her head on his lap, fast asleep. She always does that after her bedtime stories. The other two sets of sleepy eyes look up at her suggest that a bit of storytelling might have been going on here.

This entire day has been unbelievable.

“Wiesel, you’ve had some smart ideas but turning into a human fly trap really isn’t one of them. Better to stop while you’re ahead, yeah?” the Boss tells her, not quite reprimanding. 

“Can’t say I expected this,” comes Nikita’s murmur. 

Rachel ignores him and steps further into her home, sidestepping the pile of shoes in front of the door with ease. She only takes a couple steps before a small hand grasps her wrist and she looks down into familiar brown eyes. Connecting him with Len, one of her boys, should not be as difficult for her as it is and she blinks the haze from her head. But it does connect and then she pulls him up into her arms. 

“Mr. Roman said you might not come back,” Len says, turning towards her neck.

Out of everything Rachel has heard today, this is the one that bothers her the most. “You know that I wouldn’t dream of that.” 

“I told him that.” 

“So did I!” Marshall says from the couch, quickly jumping to attention.

Their exclamations settle something in her stomach, far more reassuring than anything else they could have said. Rachel kicks a half-dressed doll over into the corner as she steps over to her favourite old, creaky rocking chair and sits down. Hands grasp at her shirt while both her and Len shift into a more comfortable position, his weight spread across her lap. She hardly notices Nikita stepping into the room behind her, not until he leans his hip against the side of the rocking chair.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” the Boss asks her. 

Just like that, any calm she managed to achieve disappears. “Should I?” 

“That really isn’t up to me to decide.” His hand drops down to Meg’s head and she sighs softly, shifting in her sleep. “How about you just go ahead and tell me everything, lovely?” 

For once in his life, Nikita keeps his mouth shut and Rachel finds herself immensely grateful for it. There’s a reason why she talks them out of situations, instead of him. All he would do is close himself off, his shoulders hunched and a scowl on his face as he lets himself be chewed out without explaining anything. 

Not that Rachel knows where to start explaining now. If she were to go over every decision that led them to this point, they would be here for days and the Boss would almost certainly never trust her again. 

“I won’t apologize,” she says in lieu of all that. “These kids have just as much of a right to a good life as our own children.” 

“Ha, I knew it.” The Boss’s mouth twists into a shadow of a smirk before it fades entirely. “Well, I was fairly certain they were the children of our enemies, that is. Just not entirely certain. Didn’t you trust that someone else could take care of them?” 

“By who, the government?” 

The words hang between them as Rachel shuts her mouth, their weight briefly too heavy to hear. If she didn’t know who all of them are, her chest wouldn’t feel like she has a brick weighing it down. None of them are innocent here, but neither are those who make enemies of them and the children of mobsters don’t gain much sympathy from civilians. Rachel knows exactly what would have happened to them if she hadn’t acted. She also knows that she never would have forgiven herself for doing nothing.

They hold eye contact for a long moment before the Boss sighs. “Look, I just want to know where you’re coming from here. You’ve taken a lot of liberties with this little pet project of yours, even if you’ve proven your loyalty more times than I can count.” 

“There’s not much else for me to tell you.” She reaches up to cradle the back of Len’s head. “I want to know about the flowers now.” 

“There’s not much for me to tell you.” 

“Please, Boss.” 

“Well, you know as well as I do that people don’t get away with keeping secrets from me,” he says. 

Her shoulders slump. “What happens now?” 

The children are watching her, even if she isn’t watching them at this exact moment. They have been with her through thick and thin, have seen her sleepy in the mornings and nothing short of furious on more occasions than she can count. What they haven’t seen is her resigning herself to her fate. 

Rachel already knows that is what she will do, regardless of any plans Nikita made earlier. It settles in her bones, lets her breathe a little easier as she waits for the Boss to respond. The children are more important to her than breathing but the mob has consumed her whole life since she was no older than they are now. They don’t know what kind of loyalty that inspires, she’s never told them how important that is to her. 

Something flickers in the corner of her eye. It has to be Brayden and Jasmine, hidden just around the corner. She can almost hear their hushed whispers as they no doubt desperately discuss what to do next. If they’re smart, they’ll stay right where they are. But Rachel knows them better than that. 

She isn’t the only one who is loyal to someone else and both of them are more than willing to put themselves in danger to protect their little makeshift family.

“That depends.” 

Rachel breathes out, noisy and ragged. That means she has room to negotiate. 

“Are they going to turn against me?” the Boss asks her. 

Nikita snorts and she feels heat start to gather in her cheeks. “These kids are far more likely to take over this city in Rachel’s name then turn against you, Boss. As long as you keep her around, you’ve got them as well.”

“Nikita,” Rachel hisses. 

“Meg packs quite the punch, even.” 

“I punch harder,” Marshall says with a pout, only to yelp when Elie elbows him in the side. “What was that for?” 

Elie rolls her eyes dramatically. “And Jasmine can hit so much harder than you can.” 

“We weren’t talking about Jasmine!” 

The Boss interrupts them with a surprised laugh, his eyes bright. “I’ll keep all of that in mind. Then I don’t think we have much of a problem here, Rachel. You’ll stop keeping secrets, of course, and you’ll owe me a few favours.” 

“Favours?” she asks. 

“They’ll most likely involve a continuation of your work here, actually.” 

Rachel laughs, loud and bright, and lets herself relax back into the rocking chair, her hand slipping back down to her lap. She needs to phone Sara but in the meantime, she grins at Len, a smile reflected back at her.


End file.
